


Tight Quarters

by arthurmorgan-s-heart (Silverblind)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Closet Sex, Dry Humping, F/M, Female Reader, Frottage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, Trapped In A Closet, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, the closet ™, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/arthurmorgan-s-heart
Summary: Arthur finds a good hiding place, but it's a bit tight for two.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request fill from my tumblr blog. Uploaded here for convenience - find me on tumblr - arthurmorgan-s-heart
> 
> Original request text:"For a NSFW prompt, something with Arthur and frottage? Maybe he's trapped in a tiny space with reader and can't help but get hard with their ass or leg pressed and rubbing right against him. And he's mortified and apologetic but instead of minding, reader is turned on and presses against him even harder to encourage him to keep going and grinding until he comes in his pants."

This is bad.

Very bad.

Arthur is quite sure he has never regretted anything half as much as he regrets pulling you into this closet - he almost wonders if it would have been better to get shot than to be stuck  _here_ , like  _this_ , with  _you_.

Not that you’re the problem, far from it - the problem is in the way you’re pressed up against him, and the unfortunate effect it seems to have on him, which you’re bound to notice very soon.

Good Lord, you’d think a man his age could control himself - but the sight of you like this, chest heaving from the chase that had led the both of you here, your back to his chest, hands braced against the wall, has his mind straying in all sorts of directions he’d rather keep private.

You shift slightly, involuntarily pressing your hips back into his as you try to find a more comfortable position, and he barely holds back a groan, his hand hovering inches from your waist, hesitating between pulling you closer or pushing you away - but he feels you stiffen before he can choose, your breath hitching audibly as you slowly turn your head to look at him. He feels his cheeks burn with shame as he looks up at the dusty ceiling to avoid meeting your gaze.

“Arthur?”

He had expected disgust, anger - but you sound…  _curious_. No. Do you? He’s probably imagining things. He presses his lips together in a thin line, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Arthur,” you say again, sternly - and he still doesn’t look at you. He feels you shift against him again - but this time it feels deliberate, purposeful, and a moan claws its way out of his throat before he can silence it. You do it again, and again, before his hands grab your hips, stilling you as he pulls his hips as far away from yours as possible - just a few inches, but all he can manage in this cursed place.

“Sorry,” he mutters, trying to even his breathing as he looks down at you. You don’t look angry - why don’t you look angry? You should be. “I ain’t - This - Jesus, I’m so sorry - “

He realises even as he struggles for the right words that nothing will ever make this right - you’ll never speak to him again, and he’ll have ruined yet another of the few good things in his life, and -

“Shh,” you breathe, as you slowly close the distance between your hips and his, pushing against his hardness firmly. He gives a strangled, surprised noise - half-moan, half-gasp -, hands still on your hips, gripping tight. He sees you smile as you start grinding against him slowly; he’s still not convinced he’s not imagining all this. He tries to keep his hips still, but soon he’s moving in time with you, groaning quietly with every thrust against your clothed form. You press your back to his chest, as close as you can manage, and he wraps his arms around your waist as he buries his face in your hair.

“Come on, Arthur,” you whisper as you reach up to hook one hand at the nape of his neck, allowing him to buck against your hips. You run your fingers through the damp hair at the back of his head, basking in every quiet moan, every puff of heated breath. “Almost there.”

It doesn’t take as long as you would have thought - he shudders and groans (louder than he should, though neither of you particularly care at that moment), thrusting against you a few more times, each time shallower than the one before, until he’s spent, panting against your ear as you turn your head to kiss his cheek lightly.

“Good work,” you whisper, feeling his hips give a slight jolt at your words. “You did so well.”

You’re both silent for a long moment before he allows his hands to fall away from your waist, and you step away - well, as far away as you can, which is not saying much.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “What now?”

Just as the last word leaves his mouth, you hear angry shouts and calls on the other side of the door - and sigh.

“Now,” you start as you look back at him, “we’ll have to stay here a bit longer.”

He smiles - he seems almost shy.

“That’s alright. Ain’t so bad after all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A prompt for you my friend! I’m really thirsting for some NSFW Arthur x fem reader goodness. Maybe a continuation of the one you did where reader and Arthur are hiding together and they end up rubbing all up on each other? I actually really loved that. Maybe this time though Arthur really can’t help himself and they end up doing that again..without the clothes? 🤠"

“Jesus Christ, Arthur, how do you keep getting us into these?”

As he listens to the angry voices on the other side of the door, dangerously close, Arthur can’t help but wonder the same damn thing. The door had been ajar, your pursuers hot on your heels, there’d been no time to think - 

And so he’d found himself trapped in a closet. With you.  _ Again _ .

“Didn’t do it on purpose, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” he mutters, meeting your gaze for half a heartbeat before looking away, though it was enough for him to notice how close you are to him -  _ too close _ .

You chuckle quietly, shooting him an impish look; his eyes flick back to you, and there’s a spark in your gaze that he can’t quite place - as if you know something he doesn’t. Something shifts inside him - restless, impatient. He ignores it.

“Don’t know if I believe that,” you whisper teasingly, almost nonchalantly, “but alright.”

You sound more amused than anything, which would have been a relief had the memory of what had happened the last time you’d found yourselves in a place such as this not been so painfully fresh in his mind. In truth, it had been months since then, and you’d never spoken about it after your return to camp - but it would have been a lie to say that he’d never thought about it; he had. Many times. Most often late at night, when the camp was asleep and he was alone in his tent. In fact, he is thinking about it right now - but he desperately steers his thoughts away, trying to think of anything but how he could close the distance between you with merely half a step, how heat is already pooling in his stomach and slowly spreading through him as his mind refuses to let go of the memory. He knows you’re looking at him, and he shifts uncomfortably, his own skin seemingly wrapping around him like a blanket of hot coals as he feels himself blush.

_ Shit _ .

The voices on the other side of the door have already faded - they had undoubtedly moved on to search elsewhere. Arthur knows the both of you should leave, find your horses, and get out of town as fast as possible; you  _ both _ know this, and yet neither of you dares to move, staying exactly where you are, with nothing but a few inches between you - until you take a step forward, bringing your chest against his and drawing his gaze back to yours, his heart skipping a beat and his breath hitching in his throat. You have that spark in your eyes again, though it’s almost a flame now, seemingly adding to the heat between you as your intent is made crystal clear. He opens his mouth to speak, protest, refuse, but his words fail him, and he’s reaching for you before he even realises it - and by the time he does, it’s too late; his hands are on your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you chuckle quietly when you feel the hard line of him against your stomach.

“Am I still supposed to believe you didn’t do this on purpose?” you ask teasingly, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes as your hand reaches down between you to grasp him through his trousers. His hips push into your palm as he breathes in sharply, eyes fluttering shut for half a heartbeat before he opens them again.

“Startin’ to believe maybe  _ you  _ did,” he breathes, pushing you backwards until your back is against the wall, bracing himself with one hand above your head while the other remains on your hip. You laugh softly as you stroke him through the thick fabric of his pants, a deep groan rumbling up from his chest as he presses himself even closer to you. You hear his breath hitch in his throat when your fingers come to work at his belt buckle, pushing himself greedily into your palm when it clinks open.

"Ain't you an impatient one," you breathe, smiling up at him as you unbutton his trousers. He seems almost embarrassed, shifting to pull away slightly from your touch, but your free hand reaches around his waist, pressing insistently at the small of his back to bring him flush against the palm of your hand again. The groan that escapes is long, low, and pleading.

" _ God _ …" he hisses when you reach inside his pants to find the warm flesh of his length. He heaves a shuddering breath as your hand closes around him, hips jerking forward, wordlessly begging for more as he lowers his head. You stroke him slowly, once, twice, the smothered moans you earn with every motion adding to the heat beating at your core.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” you ask quietly, and he looks up to meet your gaze, eyes half-closed and clouded with shame and want. You stroke him again, just a little harder, a little faster, and his eyes flutter shut. “You been thinkin’ about me?”

He only groans in answer, but that’s not enough. You slowly stop your motion, ignoring his pleading whine as his hips buck against your hand uselessly, waiting patiently. His eyes flutter open, silently begging for the pleasure he knows you can bring him, but you simply smile, and wait.

“Yes - good Lord,  _ yes, _ ” he finally says, hoarsely, gasping when you finally begin to stroke him again. “Almost every night - I’d wait for everyone to be asleep, and then - “

His words trail off into a moan, his head falling forward again as he nuzzles at your ear, thrusting into your grasp. The hand he has on your hip grips you tighter and tighter, bringing you closer to him in time with his movements, desperate to feel more of you.

The noise he makes when you let go of him can only be described as a whine, though you hear him suck in a breath when he sees you slowly start to pull your skirt up, inch by inch, and he lets go of you when he sees you reach for the waistband of your underwear, pulling it all the way down to the floor. He can't help but take a moment to take in the sight of your bare thighs as you hold your skirt around your waist, before he reaches for you again, his hand settling at your hip. He moans when your grasp him again, hips jolting forward slightly, but you can tell he's holding back, trying to steady his breathing so he can speak.

"You sure you want this?" He asks in between laboured breaths after a while, and you know there is another question lurking underneath, fueled by years of self-loathing and rejection, years of guilt and regrets;  _ you sure you want  _ **_me_ ** _? _

“Yes, Arthur,” you answer, and you take his free hand in yours, guiding it between your legs. He groans at what he finds there, releasing a shuddering breath as he looks at you, half-pleading, half-doubtful. " _ Yes. _ "

He hesitates, for perhaps half a heartbeat more, before he finally lets go, and he kisses you, greedily, hungrily, as if he’d been waiting for years - and  _ Lord _ , he  _ had _ , and had cursed himself for it. But you're here now, and you want him, and it's all that matters.

You moan and part from him when his fingers start moving against you, back and forth, coming to trace light circles at your center before moving down again. You stroke him in time with his movements, relishing every groan and growl you extract from him as he thrusts into your hand.

You feel his hand leave your hip, smoothing down your thigh until he can hook it under your knee to bring your leg around his hips, slotting himself against you - he's so close, so  _ goddamn _ close to where you want him, you can feel yourself shake with impatience. He removes his hand from you, placing it at your waist as he meets your eyes again, as if to make sure that this is real, that  _ you _ are real.

"Please…" he rasps. Your free hand slides down to find the small of his back, pulling him toward you, until he's against you, and he doesn't need any more encouragement before he's sinking himself inside you, slowly, carefully, breathing shakily all the while. You moan and press your face into his shoulder, your hands bunching into his shirt when he stills. You draw back, just enough to look up at him, and you can tell that every fiber of his being is focused on holding himself still as he looks at you with concern. "You alright?" He breathes, and you simply rock your hips in answer, wrenching a gasp from his throat as his hips jolt unwittingly. You can't help a quiet chuckle, but your laugh quickly melts into a moan as he thrusts in again, slowly, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he releases short, shuddering breaths that fan over the skin of your throat. You kiss his temple, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head as you move in time with him.

"Doin' so well, Arthur," you whisper, and you hear him smother a groan against your skin at your words. "So good…"

You feel his grip on your knee tighten as his rhythm grows faster, the hand he had on your waist moving to your back, pressing you as close to him as he can manage. Heat is gathering in your stomach, radiating through your entire body, and your free hand snakes between you, down and down until you find your own center. It doesn't take long for you to you shudder over the edge after that, and heat runs through each and every one of your veins like living fire as you moan and writhe in his arms.  _ God,  _ you had dreamed of this.

Arthur is nearing his end as well, and you wrap your arms around his neck, feeling his lips against the skin of your chest as he presses open-mouthed kisses wherever he can reach, murmuring fevered praise you can't quite catch as he loses himself, hips snapping against yours fast and hard. You bring one hand up to cradle the back of his head, and he looks up to meet your eyes as if to ask for permission, desperately trying to hold himself back until you give him an answer. You simply nod, and he finally lets go, hips jolting a few more times before a shudder runs through him, a long, quiet groan wrenching itself from his throat before he stills, letting his head fall forward until he can put his forehead to your shoulder as he catches his breath. 

A few more moments crawl by before he guides your leg back to the ground, slowly unwrapping it from around himself before letting you stand on your own two feet again, his hand staying on your thigh all the while. The hand he had held against your back slips higher, playing with the hair at the back of your head for a second before he takes half a step back, taking his hands off you and clearing his throat as he tucks himself away, averting his eyes as you make yourself decent again. You can't help but chuckle at seeing him so embarrassed, especially after what the both of you had just done. You step forward, leaning up to peck his cheek lightly, and you smile at the blush you see creeping across his face.

"So," you start, and you finally see him look up - just for a second, his eyes darting back down immediately. "Am I gonna have to wait 'til we get stuck like this again for you to pay attention to me?"

He laughs at that - quietly, almost timidly - but he does meet your eyes, offering you a smile.

"Not unless you want to," he answers, and you see his hand reach forward, fingers brushing yours lightly. "Though I think I'm startin' to like it in here."


End file.
